


Aperitif

by TenkeyLess



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, M/M, Male Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Valentione's Fic Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-19 14:02:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22711963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TenkeyLess/pseuds/TenkeyLess
Summary: Sometimes the best Valentione's gift is another's time. Sometimes it's far more intimate than that.Emet-Selch is determined to make WoL his 'sweetheart' this holiday, by fair means or foul. Thankfully, WoL is into it, after a little persuation.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 4
Kudos: 85
Collections: Valentine's Fic Exchange 2020





	Aperitif

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darkforetold](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkforetold/gifts).



"...are you following me again, Emet-Selch?"

Arms laden with goods from the Musica Universalis, you peer dubiously over the top of your paper bags at the lounging Ascian. He lays sprawled atop stacked boxes by this latest booth, appearance impeccable as always, his fair skin shaded by the booth's overhang. Arms cushion his head as he relaxes on his back, lazily turning his head to regard you with a huff at your question.

"All this running to and fro, hero; whatever could be the cause? It looks _exhausting_."

"Gifts for Valentione's, of course. Handmade is heart felt, as my mam always says -- and the holiday starts tomorrow." You give the Ascian your best smile, bright and welcoming. He's earned that much, after bringing Y'shtola back during your latest Lightwarden hunt. To be fair, it was mostly due to Thancred's bristling that you'd refrained before, your bright personality shuttered in the face of the gunbreaker's grumping.

"Ooh?" Emet-Selch drawls a long sound of interest, voice lush and dark. "And does the Champion of the Source have a sweetheart for this most auspicious holiday?"

You blush as Nero's face comes to mind, the smug bastard that caught your interest from his sickbed after Omega's underhanded attack. Though you'd only shared a chaste kiss before the former Tribunus scampered off, the thought of him sends warm butterflies through your stomach. The crinkle of crushed paper brings you back to yourself, and you find your hands reflexively clenching around your gathered goods. Embarrassment paints your face red as you release your tight grip, checking worriedly for damage to the parcels.

"Ah, not as such, no." You look up to meet his eyes after inspecting your armful closely (has Urianger’s tea been squished?). Surprise and something darker flashes across Emet-Selch's face before he schools his expression back to habitual boredom. Yawning loudly, the former Emperor hops down from his perch to crowd up against you.

"'No sweetheart', yet you have the audacity to look like a starstruck fool."

"Emet-Selch?" You bite out, alarmed at the Ascian's derisive tone. The last time he'd used such cutting verbiage towards you, Thancred had intervened. A misunderstanding about the humanity of the Ascians -- a lesson that Emet-Selch's tone promises a repeat of.

"Do not _presume_ to _lie_ \--"

You back up quickly to make space, feet skittering on the cobblestone. With a wrench your boot catches and your arms flail for balance as you go down _hard_. Your eyes close in anticipation of pain, ready for the presents you hold for your friends to smash to the ground -- but the pain fails to come, and neither does the sound of wrecked possessions follow.

Eyes opening slowly, you stare bewildered at Emet-Selch's worried gaze a mere handspan from your own. You realize he has you in a dancer's dip, one wide hand splayed against your lower back while the other circles your wrist. The lanky man leans back with a puff of exertion, pulling you upright. Duly stabilized and standing, you cast a worried glance about for your possessions and find them cushioned on dark aether above the ground. Turning back to meet your saviour's gaze, you find the Ascian snug up against you, fronts pressed together from his timely catch. His chest is hot beneath your fingertips, heat radiating even through his heavy clothing; his smile is as sharp and hard as the muscles beneath. You snap your gaze to his, pointedly not staring down.

"So clumsy; whatever am I to do with you."

"Emet-Selch..." You trail off, feeling like the Gaelicat's caught your tongue as you stare into his golden eyes. They are tilted up in mirth and perhaps something more as his hand on your back strokes soothing circles.

"Why hero, are you always this graceful?" His smirk has you blushing hotly, and you tug your wrist free of his grasp to pull away. He holds you for a moment before allowing you to pull away; a demonstration of his unexpected strength. Though, you suppose if this is his youthful body from his Legatus days, it _would_ be impressively muscled. You've seen Baelsar and Nero close up, after all.

Mind whirling from your near tumble and the intrusive fixation on the man's well-toned muscles, you fail to notice the way Emet-Selch's eyes trace possessively over you as you pick up your fallen bags. Only once they're stacked tall do you turn to face the Ascian again, presents a paltry shield between your body and his heat.

"Thank you--for catching them, and me." You dip into a small bow, careful to keep your bags secure. Lips twisted in a smirk, Emet-Selch returns your thanks with an elaborate bow, nearly bent in half, and meets your gaze from below.

"T'was my pleasure, hero. Though, as the common folk are wont to say, 'you owe me one'." His eyes sparkle with darker implications as he straightens up, flicking his wrist to dissipate the aetheric cushions and snapping sharply to summon a portal behind him. You flinch at the sound, eyeing his portal with surprise.

"And with that, I shall take my leave of you."

You rock back on your heels, startled that he's leaving just like that. You find your mouth parted to request his company for a moment longer, to ask him to stay, to clarify what he means that you 'owe him', before you catch yourself. Slowly, you close your mouth. His lips tilt in a wicked smile before he turns and walks away, wrist lazily waving goodbye; the portal consumes him in moments. A cold ball of embarrassment drops into the pit of your stomach as you realize he noticed your winsome reaction. Probably even identified himself as the culprit. Your face flushes red at the thought, that you've been so easily flustered by the Ascian's grace.

Belatedly, you realize you may have a thing for tall, snarky Garleans.

Shaking your head to clear the thought, you plot your path to the Crystalline Mean and the Facets of Crafting. There are gifts that require your undivided attention, and you hope the clean craft work will cleanse your mind of these confusing emotions.

* * *

Later that evening, as you huff and puff your way to the top ring of the Pendants under the weight of several heartfelt gifts, you find your emotions perfectly placid, the turmoil of this morning thoroughly forgotten and buried.

And it all comes roaring back as you enter your rooms. Emet-Selch is draped across a plush armchair you are positive was not in your room before.

"Emet-Selch!" You gasp, eyes wide at his intrusion. An alluring aroma interrupts your next outburst about privacy; your nose twitches and leads your gaze to your table, stomach grumbling. Belatedly, you realize in the rush of the day's preparations you've skipped lunch and dinner both.

A small meal for two steams quietly on your table. By the dishes, it amounts to a proper meal, rather than the trays of sandwiches you're accustomed to, or the rations while on the road. You give Emet-Selch a wary glance before placing your gifts carefully on the ground beside your usual chair. Investigating the food, you find your favorites --Salt cod puffs, cheese risotto, and a high quality apple tart.

Light footsteps alert you to the Ascian drawing near, peering over your shoulder at the food.

"You did say something about homemade being heartfelt, yes?"

"This is-- _you_ made this?"

You can _hear_ the smug smirk in his voice as Emet-Selch answers.

"Well, yes. I wasn't going to follow you around _all_ day, bustling to and fro like an errand boy." You turn to face him, and brush against the white ruff of his coat. Close, closer than you thought, he nearly pins you to the table, lengthy arms framing you as they settle to the edge of the furniture. Your eyes track up, sticking briefly at his chest (it's unfair how good his chest looks, you mull) and rush the rest of the way up to his face where he waits for your attention with a sly grin.

"I do hope you're hungry, hero. Though if I may, I would offer an aperitif." His luscious voice draws you in, purring an invitation. Licking your lips, you watch his own caress.

each.

word.

Suddenly parched, you swallow dryly, cheeks hot. He notes each small tell, eyes narrowing as you lean back in what little space is afforded you. Denying you escape, he closes the meager gap, mouth coming to gently rest against yours. A soft query, asked and answered as you press back, permission granted, your tongue swiping a line across his lip. Hunger and curiosity both burn in newfound consideration for the Ascian, for what he means to you-- _intends_ for you. ~~What you want him to be for you.~~

His mouth parts at your request, tongue sliding along yours in a lewd greeting. You can't help but lean into him, arms raising to clasp him in place, tongue pushing in with a moan. Eyes fluttering shut, you press insistently against the Ascian, reveling in the taste of him, his hard planes against yours. Overwhelmed by the simple gift of a homemade meal by a man that should rightly be your enemy, yet you cannot summon the energy to hate him. Instead, a warm ember kindles in your chest, urging you to partake of his offered affection, whatever his reasons for doing so.

And for the Ascian's part, he seems more than willing to extend his 'aperitif'. Tongue sliding demandingly against yours, his gloved hand rises to tangle itself in your hair, bracing your head to him tightly. Cinnamon and salt invade your mouth, and you realize he's been tasting the dinner set on your table, probably while cooking for you. The feeling of being cared for, receiving such a thoughtful gift, is _intoxicating_ , and you surrender to Emet-Selch with a moan.

He catches you, chuckling, and releases his grip on your hair in favor of lifting you onto the table, far from the still-steaming dinner. His feasting at your mouth grows ravenous as his clever hands undo the front of your shirt.

"Oh little hero, fret not. I will take every care to see your appetite sated." He croons, and you shiver at the possessive tone he employs. You've played the part, the unflinching hero to so many--how is it that before Emet-Selch all that washes away, leaving only the needy desire to be cared for? To be held and wanted and, dare you contemplate it, protected. Emet-Selch has befuddlingly filled all these desires and more just today, and you embrace the warm affection he's enkindled like a coeurl in the sun. Perhaps you _will_ have a sweetheart for Valentione's this year.

Cool air hits your skin as he strips you of your shirt, material pooling at your waist while his hands go to work on your bare skin.

"Emet-Sss--" You hiss, as his lips capture one of your nipples. You can feel his grin; every lick, every nip, every teasing scrape of teeth over your sensitive flesh. His gloves dig furrows along your back, and you arc into the contact. Muscles, nay, form long neglected, the lines up your back feel like the prelude to a long overdue coupling. You return the favor, hands slipping under his jacket to grasp at his sculpted back. 

"So responsive--" Emet-Selch murmurs against you with approval, lips catching your other nipple and lavishing attention on the tender flesh. You gasp, his clever mouth put to good use teasing your arousal to fullness. Heat pools in your navel as he marks your skin, nipping a hard line low, lower, abdominals clenching under his attention. Desperate to ground yourself, you clutch at his shoulders as he kneels before you. 

"Now about what you owe, hero. Do not be so boring as to deny you _want this_." Emet-Selch peers up at you, thick lashes barely tempering the glowing gold of his eyes. They fairly burn with the intensity of his purview, attention explicitly clear as his gloves tease your thighs. You squirm under his gaze and grip, utterly entrapped by the enemy turned ally between your legs. 

"Emet-Selch, I-- _yes_." A victorious smile flashes across his face as you answer, your submission handed over completely to his whims. 

"Good, good, my dear sweetheart. Now lean back and let me have my fill." You comply, bracing your forearms against the table as Emet-Selch unlaces your trousers. The friction against your ignored arousal is almost too much, and you buck against his hands, much to the Ascian's amusement. 

"So _eager_. You've been neglecting yourself, haven't you, my dear? Running hither and yon for those friends of yours with nary a care for yourself. This will not do." He croons a singsong tone, a lilting comfort as his hand finds your cock. You hiss at the touch, already stiff and straining against your smalls. Gently he prises you free, length flushed and tip glistening with your eagerness. His eyes narrow at the sight, pleased grin stretching across his face.

"Oh my _dear_." He presses a kiss to the head, butterfly light, smearing your wetness on his lips. Licking them to taste your pre, he looks up at you with a lascivious light in his eyes. "You may want to bite something, unless you wish for the rest of the Pendants to hear you." 

Your eyes widen at the prospect of being heard, wanton noises loosed under the Ascian's ravenous attention. Desperate gaze searching the table for something suitable, you are taken unprepared as Emet-Selch's mouth closes over your cock. You shout at the divine sensation, hot tongue tracing your length's underside as he swallows you deep. 

You marvel at the tight heat of his mouth, moaning incoherently, barely restraining your need to buck into his throat and take your pleasure. To his credit, he works you like a man starved, gluttony on unabashed display. Your hands flex, nails digging painfully into the wooden surface of the table. Emet-Selch hums approval at your enforced stillness, cheeks hollowing as the heat in your gut coils alarmingly quickly. You lunge forward, abdomen flexing as you bend in half to grasp at the Ascian's feathery hair. 

"Eh-Emet-Ssselch, stop--stop, I _want_ \--" Emet-Selch lets your cock drop from his mouth with a lewd pop, looking up to meet your gaze.

"What do you want, sweetheart?" Crude demands spill across your mind at his fervent query, but the sight of yourself glistening on his lips wipes them all away. You fist your fingers in his hair, levering his face up so you can taste his lips. What’s left of the dark lip paint he's so fond of smears across your mouth as you taste him deeply--no chaste kiss, this, as you drink down his pleased groan. The exquisite sound is sin incarnate, and sends a bolt of lust straight to your groin.

You've never been one to claim your own pleasure alone, as he had said. The kiss stokes the burgeoning pleasure to an inferno, and you snake your hands down Emet-Selch's body to grasp at his cock--intent to bring him along with you. He looses a surprised huff at your insistent touch, your hands pawing at his trousers until he relents and snaps away the offending raiment. 

"Together, I want us to go together," you murmur, and Emet-Selch grins at the request.

"Then it shall be so." He crowds you back onto the table, reaching out for some olive oil to slick his gloves before grasping your cock. You take the moment to admire the Garlean's robust physique, gloves the only piece of attire still on him. The flat planes of his chest prove a comfortable resting place for your hands as he brings his cock to brush against yours. You gasp at the levin-charged sensation, slicked length held to yours as he begins to rut. 

"Just like that, let me _see you_." He purrs, rocking above you. You can feel the heat settling in your face at this situation, small grin finding its way above the tumult of sensation assaulting your senses. The rising tide of pleasure sweeps you up with the sharp snapping of his hips, delicious friction pulling at your member as he rolls back and forth across you. With a gasp, your head lolls back as you tremble with the effort to hold back. Hold on. _Revel_ in the moment, waiting for Emet-Selch's panting breath to give way to an unmistakable, debauched moan. Warm release paints your chest as you both let go, Emet-Selch cresting just after you with a few harsh thrusts.

You chuckle breathlessly as Emet-Selch shifts off you, stepping back to the floor with a grimace at the cold tile on his bare feet. Surveying the mess, you recall the abandoned dinner, no longer steaming.

"Oh no, the meal! And you put such effort into it." Emet-Selch looks at you incredulously, eyeing the spatter across your chest. 

" _That_ is your concern? Come, you've a bath in these rooms yes? Let us clean ourselves and I shall make your meal anew." He treads over to the washroom, feet in minimal contact with the cold floor, and gestures to you impatiently. Casting a sad glance to the food as your stomach decides to remind you of your hunger, you hop off the thoroughly debased table to join him. 

"How did you know those dishes are my favorites, by the way?"

"Do you think my penchant for watching mere idleness?" He bristles, pushing you towards the tub. "I did say I like to _watch_ , sweetheart."

You blush at his address for you, glancing at him below your lashes as he selects a soap from your motley collection. With a pleased sound he turns to you, and you note the pink along his cheeks. How _endearing_ , this Ascian. You reach out to embrace him, heart warm at the prospect of spending Valentione's with a sweetheart at last. And, rather possessively, he embraces you back--whispering almost too quietly to hear, " _mine_."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to the [Bookclub discord](https://discord.gg/PvbG45u) for their infectious enthusiasm <3


End file.
